<\/p>\n
Alicja Maria Kuberska, Poland Member of the Board<\/strong><\/p>\n Alicja Maria Kuberska \u2013 awarded Polish poetess, novelist, journalist, editor.<\/p>\n She is an author of many volumes and a novel. Her poems have been published in numerous anthologies and magazines in Poland, Czech Republic, the USA, the UK, Belgium ,Albania, Bulgaria, Hungary, Spain, Chile, Israel, Canada, India, Italy, Uzbekistan, Taiwan, South Korea and Australia.<\/p>\n Alicja Kuberska is a member of the Polish Writers Associations in Warsaw, Poland and IWA Bogdani, Albania. She is also a member of directors\u2019 board of Soflay Literature Foundation.<\/p>\n The day \u2013 break<\/strong><\/p>\n Wake me up All birds, curled up in the nests, Good morning<\/strong><\/p>\n Each day<\/p>\n I would like to know each day, I do not want to stay The train<\/strong><\/p>\n I got onto the train of life I will get out burdened with bundles of I packed them carefully. I met many passengers, Each meeting, The Chat<\/strong><\/p>\n I knocked at your mind.<\/p>\n Let me in – I asked I do not want them – you answered Conversion<\/strong><\/p>\n It is a pity that I cannot buy a new soul. The old one is dysfunctional.<\/p>\n It is much easier to have a simple vision of the world. Being greedy protects the heart. Gain a prominent place in the rat race, My soul is able to forgive. It says it does not enter the same river twice. It does not listen to reason. It is she<\/strong><\/p>\n We pass each other nearly every day, I see her in the wind, which carelessly She is all-around and she reminds us of her presence. Alicja Maria Kuberska, Poland Member of the Board Alicja Maria Kuberska \u2013 awarded Polish poetess, novelist, journalist, editor. She is an author of many volumes and a novel. Her poems have been published in numerous anthologies and magazines in Poland, Czech Republic, the USA, the UK, Belgium ,Albania, Bulgaria, Hungary, Spain, Chile, Israel, Canada, […]<\/p>","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":3462,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[161,162],"tags":[],"book_author":[],"book_publisher":[],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/475"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=475"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/475\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3461,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/475\/revisions\/3461"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/3462"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=475"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=475"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=475"},{"taxonomy":"book_author","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/book_author?post=475"},{"taxonomy":"book_publisher","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/book_publisher?post=475"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nDelicately and tenderly.
\nBlow away the dream
\nFrom my eye-lashes.
\nThen I will see,
\nHow Aurora with rose fingers
\nCuts the darkness of the night
\nAnd lightens the blue sky.<\/p>\n
\nWill sing the hymn about dawn.
\nThe first, warm rays of the sun
\nWill kiss the petals of sleeping flowers.
\nThis is a miracle of the new day created.<\/p>\n
\nIts colors and tastes,
\nAs if it were my first day
\nAnd the last as well.<\/p>\n
\nIn the sphere of silence.
\nI want to change the
\nMinutes into notes.
\nThe days were composed
\nLike symphonies.
\nThe nights played the nocturnes<\/p>\n
\nWith nothing,
\nWithout clothes,
\nWithout feelings.
\nA blank sheet of paper.
\nBlotting-paper absorbing everything.<\/p>\n
\nRecollections and impressions.<\/p>\n
\nSome of them faded, like
\nInk from old letters.
\nI tied them with ribbons of all colors.
\nThese white ones are my
\nInessential remembrances
\nAnd black ones are heavy and traumatic.<\/p>\n
\nThroughout this long journey
\nAnd free-riders too,
\nWho were picked up
\nAt different stops.<\/p>\n
\nEven this, the shortest one,
\nLike a flash of sun or
\nFlutter of butterfly wings
\nEnriched and filled my bag of experiences<\/p>\n
\nI have brought you something,
\nMy crazy thoughts and dreams,
\nThe works collected from
\nThe oceans of creativity.
\nLook how pretty they are,
\nEven the smallest ones\u2026
\nSmaller than grains of sand.<\/p>\n
\nMy world is sterile,
\nArranged and known.
\nYour every written poem
\nCan ruin my calm,
\nWhich was built over years.
\nThe recognition can be painful
\nBecause of its insolence and ignorance.
\nThe questions wake up the sleeping fears.
\nI prefer to stay safely in
\nWell – known loneliness<\/p>\n
\nIn supermarkets, there are no special offers
\n– New Soul! On sale!<\/p>\n
\nKeep your feet on the ground and don\u2019t have dreams.<\/p>\n
\nLife has a physical dimension. Ideals hurt.<\/p>\n
\nDispose of sentiments, tears.<\/p>\n
\nIt cannot learn to trust again.<\/p>\n
\nUnreasonable? Perhaps. –<\/p>\n
\nIt pulls away from people<\/p>\n
\nDistance of fear between us.
\nLife forces us to mutual disregard and acceptance.
\nAt times, like an unruly child, she will spoil something,
\nTo garner attention, to arrest with a gesture.<\/p>\n
\nTurns over the withering leaves
\nAnd standing proudly erect in stalks stiffened by frost.
\nShe paints shriveled trees gray, breaks limbs with a crack.
\nShe is mute in the clenched throats of birds,
\nShe stares with glassy eyes.<\/p>\n
\nShe patiently explains the meaning of certainty.
\nI know she does not allow us to take anything,
\nWhen she plays the requiem and invites eternal sleep<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"